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of a rap on the knuckles.
    â€œOkay I’m sorry, I was out of line. But a freshie?” She picked the photo up again. “And is this really his best picture?”
    Nessa grabbed it back. “That’s enough. He comes from a good family. We’ve found a bride for Mazid too.” Aila stiffened.
    â€œHer name’s Sobia. She’s your father’s uncle’s granddaughter. Her family lived in the next village to us. You might remember them.”
    â€œNo, I don’t, and I have no idea who you’re talking about. Why is this happening now?”
    â€œWell, we always said your brother would be married first, in case your in-laws wouldn’t allow you to travel for his wedding.”
    â€œI know that, but why now?” Still her mother wouldn’t meet her eyes.
    â€œYour father’s uncle’s ill. Dad’s asked for one of the bulls at home to be sacrificed, but we don’t hold out much hope. Chacha’s dying and he wants to make sure Sobia’s taken care of. We’re thinking the wedding could be soon. After Eid, we’ll all go home.”
    â€œThat’s not even two months away. Has Maz been told?”
    â€œDad’s speaking to him today.” Nessa put the envelope in front of her. “Just look again, with open eyes.” She stood up and walked into the kitchen, leaving Aila to push it away.
    The whole business didn’t sit right and, while she understood Chacha’s dying wishes were a big deal, the rest of it made no sense. They didn’t live in a village, so was a village girl a good idea? When she finally got to speak to Mazid, he said he didn’t want to be married like that, to a girl he’d never met, and agreed the timing was wrong. He hadn’t finished his degree and he had no money.
    However, every time she tried to talk to her father, the discussion degenerated into shouting and ended with Sadhan slamming doors and stalking off, while Nessa stayed silent and retreated to the kitchen.
    Hostilities continued into the next week, but Sadhan remained unmoved. Even when the situation at the restaurant deteriorated, he refused to back down. The takings were down and nowhere near enough money had come in. Aila told him yet again it was a clear sign the timing was all wrong. But he decided it was high time she stopped carping and did something to help.
    So instead of scoring what she thought would be a winning point, Aila was commandeered to do the deliveries at the restaurant on Saturday nights. While she drove steaming take-away boxes all over Hersham, her father fretted and fumed in the kitchen. Bloody recession was the last thing he needed on top of everything else. Begs the question, why go? she shouted at the end of the night, which nearly provoked another attack and she had to back down.
    He wasn’t going to budge and Aila was at a loss. She had argued on Mazid’s behalf, from every angle she could think of, and she’d argued about the debt he’d incur. She even argued about the effect such a long trip would have on her mother’s health. But at no point did she mention the proposal. Aila never referred to it, nor used it in any of the arguments about Bangladesh, because it had been shut out of her mind and therefore it didn’t exist, like the jinn that never happened all those years ago.
    Around the time of her fifteenth birthday, Aila would have a sense of something in her room from time to time when she walked in, and it would be behind the door, or in the corner by the window, lurking like the shadow of a threat. Just after her birthday, it became an old woman in a black burkha, with no hands and no feet, who sat, grey-faced beside her dressing table, and glared at her with angry eyes.
    She told her father and he at first assumed it was a nightmare that would pass, like all her bad dreams. But Nessa knew what it was even before the scratch marks started to appear on her back and, when she